


Lay Your Head Down

by oneoneandone



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:47:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27950054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneoneandone/pseuds/oneoneandone
Summary: We all just need a little TLC sometimes.
Relationships: Tobin Heath/Christen Press
Comments: 18
Kudos: 266





	1. Chapter 1

“Hey,” Tobin whispered softly as she stepped into the dark bedroom, “I’m back.” 

But there was no response, just a steady rise and fall of the blankets, visible in the weak arc of light cast from the hallway behind her, and Tobin moved deeper into the room, almost tripping over the pillows that have been kicked or pushed or thrown from the bed in Christen’s restless sleep. 

“Baby?” she sat gingerly on the edge of the mattress and rested her hand against the younger woman’s shoulder. Tobin brushed back the dark hair covering her partner’s face, seeing the slight flush in Christen’s cheeks. A hand to Chris’s brow told her that the fever hadn’t quite broken yet, and she looked down at the woman she loves with concern in her eyes. 

Tobin rose and made her way through the dark bedroom to the bathroom, leaving the lights off so as not to disturb the sleeping woman just yet, returning a few moments later with supplies, the lights from the bathroom providing just the right amount to let her see.

“Chris, baby,” she gently shook her girlfriend, “honey, can you wake up for me?” And after a moment, Tobin heard the soft moan, and watched as Christen shifted onto her back and slowly opened her eyes, blinking slowly. And her face crumpled a little, enough that Tobin could tell she wasn’t feeling any better now than she’d been in the morning. 

Tobin rubbed her back lightly, giving her a few moments to wake. “You’re home,” Christen said in a low, weak voice as Tobin gave her a worried smile. 

“I am,” she rested a palm against the younger woman’s cheek, feeling the heat there, and worrying her lower lip between her teeth as Chris moved instinctively into the coolness of her long, thin fingers. “Are you feeling any better?” Tobin asked, already knowing the answer. 

But Christen looked up at her, green eyes streaked with red, and hummed a soft affirmative. The older woman just shook her head. “Liar,” she brushed a thumb over the smooth curve of her lover’s cheek. “But I’m home now, and I’m going to take care of you.” And her heart practically ached at the sweet relief that flooded through Christen, the way she seemed to just melt into Tobin’s presence, her touch. 

“Let’s get you sitting up a bit,” Tobin encouraged her and helped Christen to sit back against the pillows. And it was obvious that even such a small action took a lot out of her, exacerbated the ache in her muscles, in her joints. “Good girl,” Tobin smiled at her, kissing her fevered skin. “I’m going to take your temperature,” she held up the digital thermometer before brushing Chris’s hair away from her ear. 

At the beep, she checked the number and frowned, but quickly turned her attention back to her girlfriend. “And now,” Tobin said, “some fluids and paracetamol.” She grinned at Christen’s confused look before reaching for the bottle of Gatorade she’d placed on the nightstand, “British Tylenol, according to Casey. I called her when I couldn’t figure out what was what at Boots. Apparently the Brits thought Tylenol was too snazzy a name.” And Chris gave her a laugh that turned into a coughing fit, echoing up from deep in her chest, and underneath it Tobin could hear the tell-tale wheeze of a chest infection.

“Oh, honey,” Tobin said sympathetically as she took the glass back and set it on the night table next to their bed. “I think you’ve caught a bad one.” She rubbed her girlfriend’s back as the fit continued, keeping her touch light, frowning to herself as she felt the slight dampness of the light thermal henley Christen wore. 

Finally, Chris was quiet, and her body no longer shook with the force required to try and clear her lungs. But Tobin could feel the spreading wetness of tears as the younger woman whimpered miserably against her shoulder. "Hey," she pressed a kiss to Christen's jaw, "I've got something to make you feel better." And carefully, slowly, she helped her girlfriend out of their bed and guided her toward the bathroom. 

Already, the tub was waiting, the scent of the peppermint and eucalyptus oils she’d added filling the air. By now, the hot bath Tobin had run was just the right temperature, a quick flick of her wrist under the water assured her of that, and the air still held the warm steam that she hoped would help ease Christen’s cough. 

“You ran me a bath?” Christen’s voice was low, thick with congestion, and Tobin began to carefully tug up the damp shirt, trying not to move too fast and aggravate her girlfriend’s flu-induced achy limbs and sensitive skin, but also not wanting to love to slow and let Christen get chilled. She pulled her girlfriend’s hair back into a loose bun, just the way she’d seen the other woman do a thousand times over on game days and lazy Sunday mornings spent dozing in each other’s arms.

Tobin helped her into the warm bath, making sure that the foam pillow Chris liked to use for long soaks was at just the right place before reaching for a soft washcloth and her girlfriend’s favorite bath gel, but the younger woman reached for her hand, stopping her. “Hold me?” Christen asked in a whisper, and Tobin felt that familiar squeeze of her heart, the one she felt every time the totality of her love for this woman seemed to reach new and heretofore unimaginable heights. 

“Give me a second?” she nodded, and put the washcloth down before brushing the pad of her thumb along the gentle curve of Christen’s jaw. The younger woman nodded, and Tobin stood, giving her a loving smile, “I’m just going to toss our clothes in the hamper and change the sheets. I’ll be quick.”

And quick she was, returning only a few minutes later to find Chris reclining against the back of the bathtub, eyes closed as she breathed in the warm, humid air in the bathroom. “You’re already looking a little better,” Tobin knelt down next to the bathtub again, and smiled, thinking about how beautiful the woman she loved was. As beautiful with her red eyes and fever-flushed skin as any other moment, any other day, any other memory. 

“You said you’d join me,” Christen rasped, but she sounded more awake, more coherent, than before, and Tobin was relieved. 

She reached to the counter for the thermometer, holding it up with a grin. “Let me take your temp again first?” And Chris nodded. 

It was lower—not by much, but by enough that that, too, brought the older woman a modicum of relief. “Down half a degree,” she teased, kissing Chris’s brow before beginning to strip off her own clothes, the training leggings and shirt she’d changed into after the match. 

Finally, she slipped into the bathtub, Christen scooting forward just enough to make room for Tobin behind her before leaning back with a contented, relieved sigh. “Now I feel better,” Chris said, and even though she had to stop for another coughing fit, it didn’t seem to tear through her whole body like it had before. 

“You just wanted a cuddle,” Tobin pressed a kiss to the side of her head, smiling at the feel of her whole world in her arms. And Christen didn’t deny it, just pressed a little closer back into her.

“Tell me about the match?” Chris reached for the older woman’s hand, holding it loosely in her own. And Tobin began, narrating as much as she could remember from the game, her voice soft and steady, meant to slow, to soothe. 

It didn’t take long before Tobin felt her lover’s body relax, felt her breathing—still ragged, still a wheeze there—against her chest. But still, she whispered into the warm air, stories to weave hopes and dreams as Christen slept against her. 

“I’ve got you,” Tobin whispered, “just sleep. I’ve got you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A follow-up, as requested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt**   
>  _Preath, oh, baby come here_

It’s the quiet that wakes her, so unfamiliar in the dark room. For all that Tobin was the silent, almost brooding type in the light of day, in the night she was always loud. And it had taken Christen more than a little time to get used to the deep breathing, the snores that seemed to rattle up from her partner’s thin chest. It was the sleep-talking, little snippets of her thoughts and dreams revealed in these drowsy monologues, that amused her the most, that often enough woke her up and then filled her with the familiar fond warmth of love, whole and true. It was, in fact, how Christen knew about the ring, long months before the woman she loved gathered up the courage to ask.

But tonight, the bedroom is silent, and the sheets are cold, and though Christen knows that Tobin wouldn’t have left without saying something, her heart twists with worry, because Tobin’s been overextending herself for weeks now. First with getting ready for National Team camp in Belgium, then back on the pitch in Manchester. And then on top of that, she’d spent the hours not in training or working taking care of Christen while she was sick, worrying over her fever, her cough. Even after the multiple COVID tests had come back negative, Chris had woken almost every night to find concerned golden eyes watching over her. Felt the strong arms of her partner wrap around her from behind on the nights she slipped out of bed afraid the rattle in her chest would wake the woman she loved. In every way, while Christen was sick, her girlfriend had been there, anticipating her needs and taking care of her. And Christen has worried that her girlfriend was stretching herself too thin.

She’s glad to be feeling better, even if she’s not back to game fitness yet. Not by a long shot. But at least she’s been able to suit up and get in some touches on the practice pitch. Tobin has still been worried, of course, and she’s been hovering far more than she should be. Certainly more than she’d needed to. But Christen can understand—she’s seen her body in the mirror, seen how wan and drawn her face has become. Weeks of no appetite, no energy, no activity have taken their toll. But already, she’s working with the trainers to rebuild her fitness, her muscle tone.

Still, Tobin had hovered far longer than she’d needed to. Worried more than was necessary. And Christen loves her for it as much as she’s been frustrated by it.

More than.

But then.

Then had come the injury earlier that week. A dangerous tackle from a young player newly promoted to the practice squad. The defender had chased after Tobin, making her way up the left side of the pitch in their full-squad session. And then, seeing that she was beat, threw her body into a slide, catching Tobin in the leg and sending her sprawling onto to the field.

Christen hadn’t seen it happen, not in real time at least. She’d been elsewhere on the pitch at the time. But after, she’d seen it over and over again on the video that the team’s media group had captured it as they recorded that day’s practice. Like everyone, she’d turned when Stoney had ripped into the younger player, chastising her for such a knowingly dangerous, absolutely stupid move. In practice of all places—not that it would have been less dangerous or stupid in a game, of course. And at first, Christen had just watched with the rest of them, because she remembered well the blistering embarrassment of making a mistake in front of the older players, the coaches she was trying to impress.

But then Tobin didn’t pop up from the thick green grass like always, didn’t even move but to clutch at her leg where she’d landed on it so awkwardly. And Chris had felt the twin flames of fear and anger spark within her blood. An anger that only got worse as the day passed, the imaging, the diagnosis, the thin line of Tobin’s lips as she bit back her pain and frustration.

Now it’s Christen who hovers, who worries. Not it’s Christen who wakes alone in bed and knows that something is wrong.

Tonight Tobin isn’t in bed with her, isn’t snuggled up behind her body, a possessive arm draped over her hio, and Christen reaches for the blanket at the foot of the bed, thick and fleecy, and wraps it around her shoulders, half cape and half shawl. She pads softly down the hall, peeking into the kitchen, into the living room with the windows looking out over their little corner of Manchester. But it’s in the spare room where she finally finds her partner, the studio and office where they spend so many of their days, Tobin creating, Christen planning and executing their company’s vision.

Tonight, the room is dark, just the light from the hall filtering in. But it’s enough to see Tobin curled up on the little couch they’d put in there, perfect for those afternoons when Christen hadn’t been well enough to do more than nap on the surprisingly comfortable couch as her girlfriend painted. Now she finds Tobin there, curled up in a ball, their favorite lazy afternoon blanket twisted around her body, and Christen feels a clench in her heart at the sight of the woman she loves.

Chris knows all the ways that Tobin sleeps. All the little nuances, the quirks, she’s more than familiar with them. The regular experience of waking to Tobin’s heavy breathing, the way she snores if she falls asleep on her back, just enough that there are nights when Christen will gently prod her onto her side, curling around the woman she loves and holding her close.

There’s her angry sleep—all tension and angles, even unconscious. As if her mind can forget for a little while, but her body remembers. Tossing and turning the whole night through.

Worse, though, is the way she sleeps when she’s ill. Her breathing shallow, her skin flushed, sweat beading at her temples. The way she clutches weakly at Chris in her fever dreams. A tenuous hold on what she knows is good, is real.

Tonight, though, Tobin is in pain, and this—this—is the worst of them all. Her brow is furrowed, and she whimpers a little when Christen sits down on the edge of the couch, nudging her injured foot on accident. “Hey, baby,” Chris gently stroked her jaw, waking the older woman slowly, watching as those soft, sweet eyes take a moment to adjust to the dim glow of the lamp she’d switched on before sitting.

Tobin shifts, stretching out an arm to as she rolls onto her back to look up at the other woman. “What time is it?” The question comes out slow and slurred, like Tobin is still half asleep, still not fully conscious. And Christen hates the way Tobin’s eyes are clouded by painkillers and the pain they can’t quite completely cover.

“Late,” Christen answers the question softly, and then looks at her watch, “just after two.” She reaches over for the water bottle on the table next to the lamp, handing it to her partner, “When’s the last time you took your pill? Do you remember?” She helps Tobin sit up a little, careful not to jostle her injured leg again.

Tobin gives her a grateful look as she downs the water, mouth dry from the powerful painkillers the doctor had prescribed. “Um,” the skin around her eyes wrinkles as she thinks, “some time after midnight? I got up but I didn’t want to wake you.” And she looks away, because she knows exactly what Christen is going to say. That she should have woken her, that Christen wanted to be woken when there was something wrong, something she could help with.

But Chris just leans forward to kiss her jaw. “Oh, honey,” the younger woman says softly, “It’s too early to take another, but let’s see if we can get you into bed? And I’ll hold you for a bit?” Tobin nods, and lets her girlfriend help her up, foregoing the crutches she’d been given to help keep her weight off the injured limb. Instead, she lets Chris hold her up as they make their way down the hall, detouring only for the younger woman to grab another bottle of water and then again for Tobin to use the restroom.

“Okay, here we go,” Christen says softly, guiding her girlfriend onto their bed, arranging a pillow under her leg to support it. And then she slides in next to the woman she loves, pulling the warm blankets up to cover them both as she rests her head over Tobin’s breast, an arm stretched across her waist to hold her. “Toby?” Chris asks, slipping her hand under the other woman’s t-shirt, just wanting to feel the soft warmth of her skin.

“Hmm?” Tobin answers sleepily, her arm curling around Christen’s back as the other woman kisses her jaw softly.

“Wake me next time?” Chris whispers, and Tobin nods, breathing deeply.

She will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn’t, like, good or anything. But at least it got written?

**Author's Note:**

> “If You’re Tired,” Connor Duermit & Ray Dalton


End file.
